


To The Stars

by Aichi



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Brainwashing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10097108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aichi/pseuds/Aichi
Summary: Noa meets his avatar. (Or: a concept I was thinking about last night before Bushi simultaneously cockblocked and validated me with today's ep.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH OKAY SO I spent all last night thinking about CBD brainwashing Noa and thinking "maybe I'll start writing that after tomorrow's episode" and lo and fucking behold, Bushi beats me to it by a matter of hours.
> 
> Regardless, I still shat out a general outline of what my take on it was gonna be, so, here you go I guess.
> 
> I also wrote this as kind of a challenge to myself to do something in one sitting, because I'm not very good at doing things at a reasonable pace. I don't know if you've noticed. Anyway that's my excuse for why it's so bare-bones and not very good.

Noa Hoshizaki was never interested in the stars. He _had_ a passion, and that was Sengoku history, and it was more important to him than _anything_. It was the aesthetic of it that excited him the most – he’d practically wallpapered his room in historical artworks, and it was even reflected in his favourite Vanguard clan, Nubatama. He’d picked up the game in admiration of Sengoku historian and competitive cardfighter Mark Whiting, and the clan had clicked with him immediately. It _resonated_ with him, in a way, like the images on those cards matched the shape and colour of his soul, and it was a way for him to share himself with other people.

That’s why, when he pulls a Link Joker triple rare, he almost dismisses it without even looking.

But something pulls at _him_ , in return, and his gaze slides back to the card.

_Chaos Breaker Dragon_. It’s not really his style, but it certainly _looks_ powerful – and _feels_ powerful, too, like he can practically sense the heat and light radiating from the dragon’s huge curved scythe. He brushes a thumb over it, the card oddly heavy in his hand, and his chest tightens, as if something just wrapped itself around his heart. A quiet whisper brushes at the back of his mind.

He’s never played a clan other than Nubatama, but it can’t hurt to try, right?

 

A few singles purchases and some rummaging through his collection later, the deck starts to come together. It only takes a few days, and it’s easy, he finds, almost like he already _knows_ these cards, knows how they work together without even thinking about it. The gentle whispers in his head help him, too, guiding his hands towards certain cards and combos and tugging his attention back whenever it starts to drift to something irrelevant.

He doesn’t think to question them.

He tests the deck at his local card shop, and wins every single game that day. Just like when he was building it, the deck practically pilots itself, his hands reaching for the right cards and playing them out almost automatically. The whispers do all the thinking for him, and it’s so easy to just let his body move on its own under their guidance, let himself watch as his opponents struggle before him, held helpless and vulnerable by the power of the black rings. They always try to fight back, of course, some better than others, but one by one, they fall before the dragon’s scythe.

Something squeezes around his heart again, and warmth spills into his chest.

He feels _strong_.

 

As he’s walking by the river on his way home, his body stops. His hands move again, unbidden, and he watches numbly as they take a deckbox from his bag, open it, and pull out his Nubatama cards. His heart stirs at the sight of them, and... _whatever it is_ inside his chest clamps down on him again. A weight lodges itself in his lungs, and his protest dies in his throat as his arm stiffly pulls back and readies itself to throw.

He can only watch, _locked_ inside his own body, as the cards scatters in the air. Several of them land on the riverbank, but most make it to the water, settling on the surface at first and then slowly sinking, one by one, as they become heavy with moisture.

There’s moisture on his face, somehow, too, and as he raises a hand, he realises it’s tears.

He’s not sure why he’s crying.

 

That night, he dreams of an endless black void, hollow and empty but for tiny pinpricks of light in the distance, so impossibly far away that it hurts his eyes to even look at them, to try and comprehend how unreachable they are.

There’s a black ring circling his chest, pinning his uppers arms to his sides.

Warily, he wriggles a little, testing the strength of the ring, but it doesn’t give an inch, which is good, maybe, because if it did then there’d be nothing to stop him just falling forever in this endless abyss. He raises a hand to it, to touch it, to see what it’s made of, because his first thought is _light_ , but it can’t be, it’s too–

The second his fingers meet it, it _squeezes_ , the pressure suddenly crushingly tight around him. His body jerks, and he lets out a strangled gasp as air forces its way out of his throat, needles of pain quickly beginning to embed themselves in his lungs.

Someone laughs, and although the tone itself is unfamiliar, guttural and dangerous, he recognises the voice immediately. His chest burn too much for him to respond to it, but something tells him it already knows anything he might have said anyway.

A sliver of drool rolls down his chin as he squirms desperately in the ring’s embrace.

The voice laughs again, and the ring tightens, and sinks _into_ him, phasing right through his skin and into his chest.

It’s heavy and foreign inside of him, squeezing in places it shouldn’t be able to even reach, and he _thrashes_ against it, ripping an airless scream from his lungs. Despite being freed, his arms still won’t move, an invisible force holding them in place, effectively subduing his frantic movements as the ring settles around his heart – he can _feel_ it, feel the pressure of it around him every time his heart pounds, cold and steely and unforgiving.

Something sharp and hot caresses his throat, and he wakes up.

His heart still feels heavy.

 

Months pass, and he wins every shop tournament he enters. He starts going to other shops too, further and further away, in search of more powerful opponents, and gets home later and later every night. Walking home under the stars, the thrill of victory still fresh and warm in his chest, becomes a habit to him, and every time he looks up at the faraway lights in the sky, he remembers Chaos Breaker’s voice echoing around him, remembers his body squirming and struggling as it hung there, bound by the black ring.

He understands, now. He’d been shown how his opponents felt, so he could better understand his own power. So he could be brought closer to his master.

He’s not sure when he started thinking of the dragon as “master”, but it feels _right_.

 

One night, instead of going home, he goes back to that spot on the riverbank. He’d lost something here once, but he can’t remember what it was. It probably didn’t matter.

The grass is soft and cool under his hands as he sits down, his master’s deck resting in his lap. Letting out a relaxed sigh, he leans back, supporting himself on his hands, watching the stars twinkle on the surface of the water. They look closer and more reachable than ever, even more so than on the star charts and space telescope photos he keeps on his bedroom walls.

Eventually, his gaze drifts up, towards the real stars, and he flops down onto his back, arms outstretched.

“They’re so far awaaayy~”

With both hands, he reaches up, fingers spread wide, as though if he only tried hard enough, stretched far enough, he could grab hold of those tiny, alluring lights and pull himself up to them.

“Masteeerrr...” he whines, quietly, “You’re out there somewhere, aren’t you? I want to be with youuu~”

The only response he gets is a quiet murmur in the back of his head. With a sigh, he lets his arms fall back on either side of him, and he curls up on his side, cradling his deck to his chest. Whining gently in longing, he rolls in the grass, deck pressed over his heart, as close as the two of them can get, for now.

One day, he’ll be the strongest cardfighter on earth, and maybe then, he’ll be strong enough to see his master.

One day, he’ll be strong enough to reach the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway yeah thanks for the episode Bushi, it was everything I ever wanted but did not in my wildest dreams actually expect.


End file.
